


Selfish Grief

by DutchDaydreamer



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DutchDaydreamer/pseuds/DutchDaydreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brother and sister are on holiday in Cardiff, where their entire world gets turned upside down as they meet a certain blue-eyed stranger. But why is he acting so strange and who is this Ianto he keeps mentioning?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before we go on this journey together, just a couple of things:  
> This is my first ever fanfic, so don't expect a masterpiece. Plus, English isn't my first language, so please bear with me as I struggle to keep the grammatical mistakes as low as possible ;)  
> Finally, I would just like to point out that I do refer to things that happened in the series, but I'm adding and tweaking things to make them fit my story.  
> Enjoy!

2:21. Bloody hell. That gives me about two hours of sleep before the alarm clock decides to wake me up. That is, if I actually manage to fall asleep.

Go to bed early, my mum said, because tomorrow is going to be a long day. Well, thanks very much, mum. I've been lying awake for over four hours now. What was the average amount of time it takes for someone to fall asleep? Seven minutes, right? Well, not in my world.

One glance at the alarm clock tells me three more minutes have passed.

I turn around, hoping that if I turn my back on the alarm, it will stop mocking me. Evil piece of technology. Almost as evil as my parents. Their two lovely children, my brother and I, decided to go to Cardiff for two weeks. On their own. Surely our parents would be kind enough to take us to the airport? No such luck. They both have to work, which leaves us in the unpredictable hands of public transport. Here is to hoping that it is not going to be too windy, too rainy, too early or whatever other excuse they have for delaying trains.

Brilliant, 22 years old and already a bitter person. It's not my fault, though. It seems as though everyone has an opinion about everything nowadays, and those opinions are always about them knowing it better.

Oh well, in just a couple of hours I will be on the plane, going to the land of castles, sheep and… I don't really know to be honest. I wanted to go to Wales because I've never been there before, but I hardly know anything about it. I suppose I just have to wait and find out.

I turn around one more time, expecting to see those floating red numbers to be even closer to the time of 5 o'clock, when the time bomb that is my alarm clock goes off. 2:53.

This is going to be a long night.

____________________________

Somewhere in the distance I can hear music. At least, I suppose some people would call it music. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to play this loud, terrible noise at this time of the night? Wait a minute, what time is it anyway? As though he could hear my question, the man on the radio tells me it is two minutes past five.

That means I did fall asleep after all. Then why do I still feel so tired? I can vaguely recall having a dream, but they say that is just your brain dealing with and processing experiences from the previous days, so that shouldn't make me even more tired.

Now I come to think of it, this was a rather weird dream. I can remember seeing two eyes. Two very blue eyes. They belonged to a man who was standing in my bedroom. I read somewhere that the faces your brain uses in your dreams, are those of people you cross in the street or see on the train for instance. I suppose I must have seen this man's face in a film or something, because he looked like some kind of Hollywood actor. A bit like Tom Cruise, but way more handsome.

The more I think about that dream, the more details I can remember. The liveliness of this dream fascinates me, but it scares me at the same time. His eyes looked so real. They were full of sadness and pain. They were the eyes of someone who has seen too much and experienced too many losses. But why was he in my dream? I mean, I'm sure I would have remembered a face like that, and it was not as if the dream was very spectacular. The man was simply standing there, looking at me with those piercing eyes, his hands in his pockets.

Oh well, it was just a dream and I'm wide awake now. Time to get out of bed and into the shower, before someone beats me to it.

During breakfast, I'm aimlessly flicking through the newspaper. Not being able to concentrate on the text, I decide to just look at the photos and headlines. Wars, political scandals, reality TV-stars getting married and divorcing again after a couple of months, cheating footballers... Just another day in our Western society.

____________________________

After being dropped off at the train station, my brother and I are just in time to catch our train, which, surprisingly enough, is right on time.

Half an hour later, we find ourselves at a very busy airport. Fascinatingly enough, life never seems to stop at an airport. Whatever the time is, there are always people flying from one place to another. So many different lives, so many different stories to be told. Quite extraordinary when you think about it.

Right in the middle of my little philosophical moment, some dark-haired man in a suit bumps straight into me. Without even turning around to apologise, he walks on as if I don't exist. I angrily look at the back of his head, hoping that I've suddenly developed the ability of exploding someone's head. Unfortunately, this was not the case, so we just walk on.

"Shall we get a coffee somewhere?" I ask my brother, realising that I had hardly spoken a word with him since arriving at the airport.

"Yeah, sure," he replies, "but I want proper coffee. Not that terribly sweet Starbucks-shit."

My brother the coffee-lover. He'll laugh at you when you say you want sugar or milk in your coffee. Since I don't really like the bitter taste of coffee, and certainly don't want to hear my brother's speech about the wonders of the black liquid, I decide to order tea.

"So, baby brother Gareth," I say, after finding two chairs, "it's been almost three years now. I know mum and dad don't really want to talk about it, but I thought, maybe you want to. You know, get it off your chest. Because it can't be good for you if you keep sulking. You do know it's not your fault that-"

"Yes, I know. By the way, you're rambling again," he says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He looks back at his empty cup of coffee, his face serious again. "But I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

I drink the rest of my tea in silence.

____________________________

Finally, we're on the plane. I don't understand why people think it is a good idea to rush into the plane as if there won't be enough seats. Most of you are British, you should know how to queue! I suppose you can't rely on stereotypes anymore these days.

When we finally found two seats next to each other and shoved our bags into the overhead cabinet with some violence, it is time for the standard welcome-to-this-plane-speech and the procedure of showing where the exits are.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Today I will be flying you to the beautiful city of Cardiff."

"Hey, he's American," I mumble to myself, rather than to anyone in particular. Gareth heard me, though.

"So what? Aren't Yanks allowed to fly us from one place to another? It is not as if you have to be born in the country you're flying to or from."

"Yeah, I suppose," I answer, still finding it slightly strange, for some unexplainable reason. "I guess I'm seeing things that aren't there again."

"Yes you are, you schizophrenic madwoman," he laughs, hitting my head playfully with the leaflet that was just handed out.

"Oi, stop it!" I say, ruffling his neatly styled hair.

We hear a cough coming from the seat next to us. A middle-aged woman looks at us in disdain. I smile at her, realising that we were acting like two excited children. But so what? I'm on holiday with my little brother and I'm not going to let a grumpy woman spoil my fun. I know how easily things can turn around. I feel a shiver going down my spine and try to repress the memories. Anyway, that's all in the past and I'm not going to let it happen again. I look at my brother who is reading a book with a smile on his face.

This is going to be a brilliant holiday.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to point out that I do refer to things that happened in the series, but I'm adding and tweaking things to make it fit my story. Thanks for going on this journey together with me :)

Saturday morning, 29 June 2013. It's a sunny day in Cardiff, though I've heard that the Welsh weather is quite unpredictable, so I'm not getting rid of my umbrella just yet.

"Are you ready for adventure number one?" I ask Gareth.

"Aye, come on, luv, let's try to find our way to the hostel."

"Don't," I chuckle. "Don't ever try to do a Welsh accent again, unless you want to be hunted down by angry Welshmen for insulting their accents."

Many paranoid moments later, we arrive at Cardiff Central. I really don't like public transport. It's not the feeling of being trapped inside a metal thing travelling at over a hundred miles an hour, but it's simply the thought of ending up in some place and being entirely lost. I know, it's mental, but hey, that's me.

It's only a five minute walk to our hostel and it's not difficult to find.

"Bore da." I say to the lady at reception, bragging with my vast knowledge of the Welsh language.

"I'm sorry, dear, I don't speak Welsh."

Oh well, I guess that the Welsh course at uni last year was a waste of time. At least I got a good grade for it.

"We booked two beds here."

"Check-in is not until after two o'clock, but you can leave your bags here until then. Why don't you have a walk and orientate yourselves. You should go to Cardiff Bay, now it's still sunny. God knows it can change any moment."

A short walk later, we arrive at Cardiff Bay.

"Let's buy some ice-cream!"

"As long as you're not trying to show off again with that Welsh language of yours."

"At least I haven't dropped out of uni yet," I say to Gareth while searching for a place to buy ice-cream.

We find a place to sit, near the water tower. While eating my slowly melting ice-cream, I'm doing one of my favourite things: looking at people walking by. Everyone is dressed in summer clothing. Shorts, dresses and sunglasses everywhere you look. Apart from one man in the distance. "Hey, look at that man over there! It's almost 25 degrees, and he's wearing a dark, long coat." I look at Gareth who is occupied with preventing his ice-cream from dripping onto his clothes. I nudge him in his ribs.

"What?"

"Did you see that man over there? He was wearing a long coat. It looked like one of those military greatcoats they wore during the Second World War." I look up to point him out, but he is gone. "I'm serious Gaz, he was right over there, next to the water tower."

"Of course he was," Gareth says. "Now let's get back to the hostel, it's nearly two o'clock."

_____________________________

"My feet hurt." I complain.

"Oh, come on. We're not going to stop just because you are wearing the wrong shoes! Besides, I still want to see Caerphilly Castle before we go back."

I have to admit that all of those castles were rather beautiful. But still, the chairs in this pub are way more comfortable.

"So, what do you want me to get you?" Gareth asks.

"A pint and some awfully unhealthy pub-food sounds brilliant. I've deserved it."

While Gareth is ordering our calorie-rich food, I look at nothing in particular and just listen to those beautiful Welsh vowels all around me. I hear stories about the latest rugby match against England, political scandals and the latest gossip. It doesn't matter where you are, some things are the same everywhere.

"Ah, there is my beer and food," I excitedly say.

"And your sweet brother, thanks very much."

"Yeah, right, and you as well. Now shut up and enjoy the feeling of cholesterol clogging your arteries. Cheers!"

"Cheers."

After finishing our food, Gareth and I try to translate the Welsh version of the menu card, and failing miserably at that, to be honest.

"So we just had cwrw and pysgod a sglodion?"

"Yup," I reply, "Beer and fish and chips. The only things you need after a long day visiting castles."

We continue pronouncing the most fascinating words, which often look like someone was trying to play scrabble without using any vowels.

"Do you need help with that? Or shall I get you guys something to drink," a voice behind me suddenly says.

"No thanks," Gareth replies politely.

That voice! I feel as though I'm nailed to my chair, but I don't know why.

"Come on. One little drink won't hurt you." The man sounds like he's smiling. And not very Welsh. American, I realise. My heart skips a beat as it strikes me that this is the same voice as the pilot's. I slowly turn around, not knowing what to expect, and I look straight into his eyes. Two very blue eyes.

"You..." I manage to say.

His smile grows a little wider as he moves to sit next to me.

"Hello, I'm Captain Jack Harkness."


	3. Chapter 3

His cheesy grin is not faltering as I continue to stare at him.

"You know, it's not very polite to stare at people like that," he chuckles, "although I understand. I am quite dashing, if I may say so myself."

Great. Cheesy, arrogant and stalking me. How can this possibly go wrong, I think sarcastically. I have to admit he is quite dashing, though. However, I will never say that to his face. This man does not look like he needs an ego-boost. He probably won't fit into the room anymore if his ego grows even bigger.

"You're Gareth, right?" He turns to Gareth, who nods. As they shake hands, the man's eyes reveal the same hint of sadness I saw in my dream. A second later, however, he breaks into his wide grin again. "Now, finish your drinks, kids, we've got some adventures waiting for us. You know, bad guys to catch, planets to save, preventing aliens from blowing up Cardiff. Again." He walks towards the door, leaving us flabbergasted.

Gareth finishes his drink and grabs his coat.

"What on earth are you doing?" I hiss at him.

"Well, you heard the Captain. We've got some planets to save!" Gareth runs up to the Captain and starts talking enthusiastically. The only thing I can do is hope that this man really is a captain and is only kidding about the alien-stories.

The moment I catch up with them, I decide to ask Captain Cheesy-smile something.

"So, Captain Harkness. That smile of yours," I ask, half joking, half serious, "is that, like, your super power? Do you use that beaming smile to convince people into doing what you want them to do?"

He winks at me. "You can call me Jack. And yes, I do. You people have no idea how easily influenced you are." He laughs as he seems to remember something.

We are at the water tower again.

"Now, come and stand on this stone. I'm going to show you something spectacular."

The three of us are standing on a stone which is slightly too small for three people. Jack, being the charmer that he is, sees this as a great opportunity to hold us both close to him.

I entirely forget about his hand casually draped over my hip as the stone starts to move. We are slowly descending into a vast space that looks like an empty warehouse. In the middle is an area with several computers and other pieces of technology I do not recognise. Other than that, I can only see a battered old couch and an expensive coffee-machine.

"Welcome to the Hub!" Jack exclaims with joy.

"What is this place?" I can't think of anything else to say. How is it possible that, right underneath Roald Dahl Plass, there is... Well, how shall I describe it? It looks like a secret base of MI5, though a very poorly equipped one.

"This," Jack says proudly, "is Torchwood. I know it looks a bit empty and cheap, but

I had to rebuild this place from scratch since the bombing." I look at him blankly.

"What bombing?" I can't recall hearing anything about a bomb in Cardiff.

"You don't know?" he asks, looking confused. When I continue to look at him blankly, he decides to explain. "Almost exactly three years ago, the British government was after me and my team. They thought we were an organisation trying to take over Britain, and, after that, the entire world. Of course, they couldn't have been farther from the truth. They placed a bomb in the middle of the Hub, destroying almost everything here. It took me a very long time to re-organise everything. Plus, I've been dealing with some... personal issues."

I realise why I didn't hear about this when it happened. Three years ago, our world was close to collapsing. Six months earlier, we received a phone call. They said we immediately had to go to the hospital. Something had happened to Gareth. My little baby brother.

It was January 2010. He was on his way to school, when suddenly a car came out of nowhere. Being in the middle of heavy snowfall, the car didn't see Gareth on time and neither did Gareth see the car. Until it was too late. When the driver eventually did see Gareth, he swerved onto the opposite driving lane and crashed into another car, resulting in both men immediately dead. In an attempt to avoid the crash, a third car had to make a sharp turn to the left. Gareth, who was shocked by the accident, did not see the sudden motion of the car coming towards him. That was all he could remember.

In July 2010, after six months of Gareth being in a coma and not showing any signs of improvement, the doctors were on the verge of pulling the plug, to put it bluntly. We realised we had to move on and that there was absolutely no improvement whatsoever. Even if he ever came back to life, he would probably end up as a vegetable for the rest of his life. At least, if you can call that a life.

We decided on a date for saying goodbye to Gareth. Four days before the day we all dreaded, something happened. The miracle we were all hoping for, against all odds, came true. Gareth came back to us, without any significant changes. The doctors still don't understand how it was possible, but we don't care. Our Gareth came back.

The sound of a coffee-machine coming to life snaps me out of my thoughts. Jack looks like he was remembering something awful as well, for the sadness has returned in his eyes.

"Coffee!" he whoops, his eyes suddenly clear blue again.

When I walk into the room with the coffee-machine, I see that Gareth is making coffee, his back turned towards us. Jack walks up to him and hugs him from behind, resting his chin on Gareth's shoulder.

"Smells good, Ianto. Make mine extra strong, will you?"

Gareth turns around in shock, dropping two cups of coffee on the floor. "What are you doing?!" He almost shouts. "Keep your hands off me! And who the hell is Ianto?"

"I... I'm so sorry," Jack stutters in shock. "I didn't... I think... Maybe you should go." But Gareth didn't hear him, because he was already storming towards the door.

Jack slumps against the wall, tears forming in his eyes.

I turn around to follow Gareth.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm glad the Hub has a normal exit as well, because it wouldn't have been very dramatic if I had to leave via the slowly moving stone.

By now, I'm familiar enough around here to find my way back to the hostel, where I expect to find Gareth. As I enter the hostel, my suspicions are confirmed.

"What happened to your brother? He looked upset. And very angry."

I look at the lady at reception. Maybe I should tell her. She might know something more about the charming captain. I'm slightly afraid of the stories she might know, though, but I have to ask her.

"Do you happen to know Captain Jack Harkness? You know, American, with a cheesy smile almost as big as his ego?"

The lady narrows her eyes. "Jack bloody Harkness. Yes, I know him. Walks around like he owns the place. Is he the source of your brother's mood? Because you have to be careful around him. That man attracts trouble. I once tried to find information about him, but it led to nothing. The only mention of a Captain Jack Harkness was during the Second World War. He was an American volunteer for the Royal Air Force, but he disappeared during the height of the London Blitz. On the morning of January 21, he failed to report for duty and was wiped off the records. He was presumed dead. But this was 1941, so this can't possibly be the same man. Other than that, there is absolutely nothing to be found about him. Basically, I don't trust the man."

This doesn't sound promising. But, even though the lady has not said a positive word about Jack, I can't forget about his sadness.

"He mentioned a man named Ianto. He confused my brother with him. Do you know who he is, or why he might have confused the two?" From how Jack acted when Gareth was making coffee, I know, whoever this Ianto bloke is, he must be very important to Jack.

"Oh, Ianto poor sod," the lady starts, suddenly full of emotion, "the sweet lad was part of that team, Torchwood. Rumour had it that he and Jack were together, although they never showed it in public. You see, Ianto was a very shy boy. Quite the opposite of Jack, who will flirt with and do literally anything that has a pulse. I suppose that's because of his youth. Ianto was born and raised in a poor area of Newport, not far from here. He was a regular patient of the local hospital. Broken bones, concussions, you name it. His mother was in the psychiatric clinic, and his father did not take this very well. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm, but it wasn't in his nature to raise his two children, Ianto and his older sister, Rhiannon. The booze turned him into a violent man, but he was always very sorry afterwards. Mind you, regret doesn't heal broken bones or a shattered self-esteem." The lady stops for a second. "I have to say, after he moved back from London, where he lived and worked for a while, things seemed to improve for him. He started wearing beautiful suits and cared more about his appearance. I always thought that the metropolitan city of London did that to him, but looking back, I realise it was something else. Someone else. Jack Harkness started noticing Ianto, and within a week or so, Ianto was part of the team. The only time I really saw them together as a couple, was a little more than three years ago. He and Jack were having dinner in a restaurant, and it absolutely did not look like the boss and his employee discussing business. They were so sweet together. I bet they hardly saw anything else but each other." The lady smiles fondly as she remembers it.

"So, where is he now? What happened to him?"

"He is dead." Her expression grows ice-cold. "Ianto Jones died three years ago, because of Jack Harkness and his bloody Torchwood."

_____________________________

Still shocked by my new findings, I go upstairs, where I find Gareth watching a James Bond film, but looking absent.

"Guess what I just found out?" I say to him, "Captain Jack Harkness is an American volunteer for the RAF, who died over 70 years ago and he confused you with his dead boyfriend who died three years ago because of him."

This blunt summary of recently acquired information has the result on Gareth I was hoping for. He looks at me, his face somewhere between shock, confusion and laughter.

"You might have to explain this," he says. "I know your imagination knows no boundaries, but this time you have exceeded the limits of any form of rational thought."

I chuckle as I move some books to make space on the couch for me to sit and start telling the entire story, knowing that it will still sound like a weird plot of a science-fiction film.

"So what are we going to do?" he asks me when I've finished telling him everything. "I mean, we can't leave him leave him like this. Besides, that lady is probably overreacting. You know how some women can be; changing simple stories into almost unbelievable gossip in order to come across as interesting. I think we should go and visit him tomorrow. The least we can do is find out how we can help him."

"Are you sure? We don't know anything about him. He lives in an almost empty space, consisting of a couple of computers, an old couch and a coffee-machine, for all we know. We can still say no."

"Do you really think we can? This man does not look like he is used to being told off. Besides, the things he said were quite interesting. And I think I've seen enough castles now, however beautiful they are. But if he ever tries to touch me again, I swear I will cut off his-"

"Yes, I think I get the picture. And I'm sure he will as well."


	5. Chapter 5

Tuesday morning. Gareth and I go downstairs to have breakfast. Even though it looks delicious, we both don't seem to be hungry.

"Are you still sure? It's not too late to decide to catch the train to Swansea and do something else."

Gareth stares at his toast for a minute. "Yeah, I'm sure," he says eventually. "I feel sorry for him. I know it sounds weird, but somehow I feel responsible as well. Besides, I've already cheated death before, so I've had my fair share of near-death experiences for a while." He winks at me as he stuffs the last piece of toast in his mouth.

"Ok, but if he turns out to be some kind of homicidal maniac, then I'm blaming you."

Half an hour later, we're back at the rear entrance of the Hub. Strangely enough, the door isn't locked. We walk through the short tunnel and open the massive cogwheel that is used as the main door to the Hub.

"Jack?"

Nothing.

"Jack, are you there?"

"Maybe you should work your coffee-magic again. It seemed to have massive effect on him yesterday," I laugh at Gareth.

"Right, but this time I'm going to watch my back. I'm not going to have him sneaking up on me again."

While Gareth makes his way to the coffee-machine, I decide to have a little walk in the Hub. It looks very basic and cold. It doesn't surprise me that Jack is wearing such an energetic and flamboyant mask. To live in a place like this would make anyone go mad. I can't help but wonder how much of that mask is a protection from the world around him.

"I found Jack!" Gareth shouts.

I follow his voice and end up at exactly the same place where we left Jack yesterday. He is still sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, eyes empty and red.

"Jack, are you okay?" Stupid question, I know. It's just that I'm not good at situations like these. "Have you been sitting here all night? Did you even sleep?"

"I don't sleep. Nightmares." He croaks. "When you've lived as long as I have... Too long. Everyone I love leaves me, and I can't leave with them. I have tried so often. So many different ways, but nothing works. I can't... never mind."

I feel rather helpless, so I walk up to him and help him back to his feet. I have no idea what to say, so I just give him a hug.

Wow, this man smells brilliant! Without realising it, I inhale deeply. I pull away to look him in the eyes.

"You've been sitting in this damp place all night. How is it possible that you smell this good?" It slips out of my mouth before I realise it.

He laughs as my face turns red.

"Fifty-first century pheromones. You people have no idea."

He is wearing his wearing his mask again and I have no idea whether he is joking or not. I try to find hints of cracks in his facade, but I can't find any. It looks like this man is well-trained at hiding his true feelings.

"You are a strange man, Harkness."

"Isn't that exciting?" He winks at me and Gareth. "Now, tell me why you came back."

____________________________

I tell him everything the lady at reception told me. When I start to talk about Ianto, Jack flinches slightly.

"I realise that I sound like an awful man, but that's just because I can't tell people the truth. If they knew what is really going on in Cardiff, all hell would break loose. And that part about Ianto's death," he closes his eyes as he continues. "Yes, it is my fault he is dead, and yes, maybe I could have prevented it, but that woman makes it sound like I killed him personally. Ianto Jones died saving the world." Jack slowly opens his eyes again. "And I'm proud of him. Always will be."

"But what is the truth? If you want our help, you're going to have to tell us everything. And no, your toothpaste-white smile is not going to help you in this situation. Tell us who you are, Jack, because, according to the records, you don't exist."

Jack smiles bitterly. "I can't tell you. First, I have to know for certain that I can trust you. You have to be the right ones." He turns to Gareth. "Your life might depend on it. Both of your lives."

"Stop messing about! Bloody hell, Jack, what do you expect? What about us? How can we ever trust you if we don't even know who you are? Besides, you have some explaining to do. First you appeared in my dream, then you were the one flying us to Cardiff, and yesterday evening you basically kidnapped us in that pub!" I am starting to get pissed off. It's a good thing that there are hardly any things here, or I would have flung something at Jack's head.

"Wait a minute, you dreamt about me?" His face lights up and that cheesy smile appears again. "What was your dream about? Was I any good?"

"What? No! God, no, it wasn't that kind of dream. You wish. No, you didn't do anything. You were just standing in my bedroom, staring at me. You looked sad."

"Too bad. Anyway, I haven't done any of those things and I certainly would have remembered being in your bedroom. And I didn't kidnap you. You simply could have walked away and..."

Jack suddenly stops talking and it looks like something has dawned upon him.

"Of course, that makes sense," he mumbles. He turns back to me. "Have you seen me anywhere else, by any chance? And think carefully, because this might be very important. Everything has to be exactly the same as you remember it, otherwise-"

"All hell breaks loose?" Gareth finishes his sentence.

"Clever boy. Yeah, something like that. By the way, did you happen to have a dream about me as well? A more exciting dream than me just standing somewhere?"

"Nope." Gareth says.

"Seriously? This is turning out to be a rather disappointing day. Anyway," he faces me again. "Do you remember seeing me anywhere else?"

"The only thing I can remember is seeing a strange bloke near the water tower yesterday. He was wearing a military greatcoat, so that kind of caught my attention."

"Yeah, I remember that as well. That was me. Me and my coat are kind of inseparable, you could say. I have great memories of it."

"Please tell me it doesn't have a pulse," Gareth laughs. He looks at me. "Anything with a pulse, you said, right?"

"Yeah, but that's just... disgusting."

"I know, but Jack doesn't look like a man who is easily disgusted by anything, are you Jack?"

We look at Jack, who clearly has no idea what's going on and is probably starting to wonder what that question means.

"What on earth are you guys talking about? But no, it doesn't have a pulse. Care to tell me what that meant?"

But Gareth and I are laughing so hard that we can't reply anymore.

Suddenly, an alarm goes off. We immediately stop laughing and look at Jack.

"Now it's my turn to laugh," he smiles as he gets up. "Come on kids, the Rift alarm wants our attention.

Rift alarm? I look at my brother, who has a puzzled look on his face which probably matches mine.

"Just follow me!"


	6. Chapter 6

When we arrive at the area with the computers, I see that most screens are covered with blinking lights, numbers and a map. Jack is typing away at one of the keyboards.

“Gareth, get my coat. We’re going Weevil-hunting in Splott!”

“What?” I say while Gareth walks away to grab Jack’s greatcoat. “What the hell is a Weevil? And Splott? Please don’t tell me that’s a place name, because it sounds rather stupid. Splott.” The more often I say it, the more stupid it sounds.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it really is a place. Though I’ve heard that estate agencies pronounce it ‘Sploe’.”

“You still haven’t told me what a Weevil is.”

“I know. But wouldn’t that just spoil the surprise? Ah, there is my boy with my coat.”

Jack extends his arms as though he expects Gareth to help him put on his coat. Gareth looks at me with an expression that seems to say: is he really expecting me to help him get dressed?

I shrug and nod.

With a heavy sigh, Gareth rather violently yanks Jack’s arms through the sleeves. “And spare me your commentaries about liking it rough. I don’t want to hear it,” Gareth says as he puts on his own coat.

“I wouldn’t dare.” Jack winks as he looks for something in his pocket. “Ah, there it is. Now let’s catch that Weevil-bastard.”

We descend some stairs and end up in what looks like a secret car park. Jack presses a button on his car key, and I hear a bleep in the distance. 

It’s a massive, black SUV. 

“This sweetheart survived the bomb, so don’t worry, you’ll be save. Why don’t you go ahead and have a seat, I have to get something out of the trunk.”

I walk to the car and open the door. Then I close it again and walk to the other side. Stupid British cars. Steering wheel is on the wrong side.

When we are all seated, Jack starts the engine. “Buckle up kids, I might have to break some speed limits.” He laughs as he lets the engine roar loudly. 

As we pull out of the car park, I hold onto my arm rest when we nearly miss a lamp post. Although this car looks like it would have knocked it down without any effort, I don’t really feel like testing this. Jack, on the other hand, is not aware of anything. He joyfully manoeuvres the SUV to the left without slowing down, which results in de car taking the corner on two wheels and me almost on Jack’s lap. When he decides to ignore a stop-sign, I hear a cacophony of claxons all around us. Again, Jack is unaware of his environment. 

We’ve come to a halt. I realise I closed my eyes somewhere along the trip and open them again. 

“Final destination: Splott.” Jack turns the engine off and gets out of the car.

“Where on earth did you learn how the drive?!” I’m not getting out of the car yet, because I’m afraid my knees are too wobbly to support my weight.

“Nowhere on earth,” Jack says. “To be honest, I don’t have a driver’s license. I’m Torchwood, I don’t need one. Now, get out of the car and take this. You’re going to need it.”

I look at what Jack just gave me. It’s a gun. 

“What am I supposed to do with this? I’ve never even seen one in real life!” I continue to stare at the gun as Jack fetches another one for Gareth. 

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out how to use it. As long as you don’t point it at someone that doesn’t look like an ugly-ass alien with sharp teeth. I really don’t want to scrape someone’s brains off the wall. Again.”

I look at Gareth, who is confidently playing with his gun. 

“Where did you learn that?” I ask him.

“I suppose I’ve seen enough James Bond films to have unconsciously picked up a thing or two. Besides, the safety is still on, so I can’t actually shoot someone now.” He stops playing with his gun. “I think. By the way, were you scared when Jack was driving? Because I don’t think you have to be.” 

“Scared? Are you serious? I was shitting bricks back there! I think I would have felt saver if a blind guy had been driving the car.” I can’t believe that my brother of all people, the one who nearly died in a car accident, is telling me to relax when that maniac is driving. 

“I don’t know why, but it just felt familiar and save,” he tries to explain. “It was like... no, just leave it. I think we should go to Jack, before he jumps another man that reminds him of that boyfriend of his.” 

We find Jack half-leaning against the bonnet of the car, looking at some kind of handheld computer. He doesn’t look very worried, so, whatever this Weevil-thing is, I hope it isn’t very dangerous. And, for the sake of my own sanity, I will just forget the fact that he just called it an alien. I’m sure there is a good explanation for it. 

“All ready to go?” Jack puts the handheld computer away and stands up straight. “Don’t worry too much about that gun, you probably won’t even need it. And remind me to give you both some firearm training when we get back. I promise you, it’s going to be an experience you’re never going to forget. I’m already looking forward to it. Come on, let’s go!”

Jack suddenly breaks into a run, and we can do nothing else but follow him. 

 

After a couple of minutes, I stop. I can’t run anymore. With my hands on my knees, I try to catch my breath. Over the last couple of years, I have spent too much time in the pub with friends, watching mind-numbing game shows on TV and writing useless essays about books I never actually read. Right now, I’m paying the price for my laziness. 

While the black dots in my vision are slowly disappearing, I look up to see nothing but an empty alleyway. Oh, brilliant, I’m left alone in a scary alleyway in a place called Splott. 

As I reach for my phone, I hear something rustling behind me. 

I’m sure it’s nothing. 

I hope it’s nothing. 

I’m too scared to hope anything, to be honest.

Suddenly remembering the gun, I turn around and even manage to keep my eyes open. See? Nothing. I knew it. Of course, this is exactly what always happens in horror films, so I’m not putting my gun away just yet. 

Right now I’m not brave enough to find out what that noise was, so I just keep standing there. 

After a minute or so, the noise returns. I lift my gun and try to aim. Steady breathing, I think. Screw it, hyperventilating will do just fine. I can hear nothing else but my own deafening heartbeat as I see something move. I try to get a good grip on my gun while I ready myself to shoot the hell out of whatever that thing is. 

Something falls over and I see... a cat. 

A ginger cat comes walking from behind some bins.   
I start to laugh hysterically and lower my gun. I almost shot the poor thing. 

As I want to walk over to the animal, something else appears from behind the bin. A human-like creature jumps at the cat, breaking its neck as he grabs it. He devours the ginger cat as if it’s just a little snack and then turns to me, his angry eyes glistening with hunger.

Shit. I’m going to get eaten by an ugly-ass alien with sharp teeth.


	7. Chapter 7

"Duck!"

I can't move.

"Duck, God dammit!"

My muscles are deceiving me. I can't do anything but stare at the creature standing in front of me. Everything seems to slow down as he moves towards me, his teeth still red. There are bits of orange fur clinging to his face. In every other situation this would have been funny, but not now. I feel like nothing will ever be funny again.

My mind is reeling, but my body won't move an inch. Is this how it's going to end?

I remember how to move again when I see a flash of a dark coat flying past me and throwing itself at the Weevil. They fall to the floor, both trying to master the other. I sink to my knees as I hear a loud snap, followed by a pained roar.

"Jack, get away from it!" It's my brother.

"No! He's going to kill you both if I do that!"

"Jack, I'm serious! Get out of the way, or I'm going to shoot you as well!"

"Have it your way," Jack says through his teeth as he rolls away. While he does this, he lets out another shout, clearly in pain.

Gareth doesn't waste another second and empties his gun in the Weevil's body. "Have that, you piece of shit!" As if his statement has to be emphasised even more, Gareth throws his empty gun at the Weevil.

"Easy, kid. I think you've killed it by now." Jack manages to smile through his pain.

"Sorry. That was the adrenaline, I guess." He matches Jack's smile.

I'm still sitting on my knees, only a couple of feet away from the Weevil. His blood starts to colour the ground brightly red. It's slowly coming my way, but I don't care. I try to get my mind to calm down, trying to understand what just happened. In front of me lies a six feet tall alien, killed by my little brother, who is now hugging a strange man we only met yesterday, but it looks like they've known each other for years. They are patting each other on the back as they praise one another.

Wait a second. His arm. That Weevil broke Jack's arm, just a couple of minutes ago!

"Jack?"

He lets go of Gareth.

"How is your arm? It sounded like that thing broke it back there."

Jack waves his arm around. "Clearly it didn't. Now, we should clean this up and get back to the Hub, before we have to explain this to anyone."

He turns around to give Gareth one last pat on the back and starts cleaning up the mess.

"No, I can't deal with this right now. I need a drink. Or ten. And I'm not getting back in the car with you. If you guys need me, I'm in a pub somewhere near Cardiff Bay. I'll see you tonight."

I turn away from this bloody scene and walk back to the bay.

\------------------------

In front of me stands an empty glass. It's the third one, and I'm slowly starting to feel its effect. I ask the bloke sitting next to me for a pen and start scribbling some things down on an empty coaster. I'm not stupid, you know. Given the enormous endlessness of the number of planets, solar-systems and other space-things, there is bound to be more than just the human race. It's just that a warning would have been nice. And what about Jack Harkness? I have a theory about him, but it is so mad that I almost start to doubt my own sanity.

I start to make a list: Eyes too old for his face, jokes about being from the fifty-first century, broken bones that heal unnaturally quick, recklessness that implies no fear of death...

There is only one thing I can do, and that is to test my theory and hope I'm right. Please, let me be right. But first I'm going to need one more drink.

My way to the Hub involves stumbling over the uneven pavement and quite a lot of wrong turns. When I finally arrive at the Hub, everything is quiet and the lights are down. The first thing I notice when my eyes are adjusted to the darkness, is a bump on the couch.

Someone is sleeping on the battered piece of furniture.

I walk over to the lightly snoring person and grab my gun. This is the moment of truth, Captain Harkness. I tiptoe even closer to the couch, carefully avoiding the empty pizza boxes. Someone should really clean up here. Anyway, I'm not here to criticise the man's lifestyle, only to find out more about his life.

I've finally reached the couch.

I lift the tip of the blanket with my gun, revealing a sleeping head. A familiar sleeping head. It's Gareth.

"Looking for someone?"

Jack appears from out of the darkness, wearing a white undershirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms. "I think you might have some questions?"

His voice brings me back to reality and I walk over to him, gun pointed at his forehead.

"Yes, absolutely. But first I have a theory to check." I realise that I sound like a paranoid and crazy person, but I don't really care. In barely two days, my entire world got turned upside down.

My aim is slightly wavering as I try to find the courage to pull the trigger.

"Are you sure you want to do that? Your brother will wake up and you're going to have quite some mess to clean up. And believe me, you don't want to do that."

"I don't care, Captain Jack Harkness."

"Your choice. Just do it quickly and don't miss."

He walks in my direction and does not stop until his head touches the gun.

"Come on, do it! If you dare."

His eyes are full of anger, pain and something I can't quite put my finger on.

I close my eyes and pull the trigger.


	8. Chapter 8

A ground-shakingly loud sound almost sends me into shock.

Did I actually just do what I think I did?

The noise was so loud that I can't hear anything else anymore. The fact that the barrel of my gun is now aimed at an empty wall, says enough. Merely a few seconds ago, Jack's head was still touching the smoking hot tip of my gun, but now he lying on the floor, in a pool of his own blood.

I just shot Jack!

I drop the gun on the floor and feel a hand on my shoulder, turning me around. The face of my brother, who, unsurprisingly enough, was woken by the sound of a gun going off, is filled with horror.

"Wh- What?" He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, eyes wide open. His hand is still clinging to my shoulder, as if it's the only thing left in the world that's keeping him from crumbling down onto the floor.

I stare back at my brother, wanting to explain everything that is going on in my head, but not knowing where to start. Because how do you start a conversation like that? 'Do you remember me saying that our Captain was an American volunteer who died over seventy years ago? Well, guess what: I think he is immortal! Don't ask me why, but that's the reason I just put a bullet through his head and scattered his brains all over the floor!' Obviously, I can't say it like that. Although, why not? It's the truth, and, since Jack didn't feel the need to tell us this little feature of his, maybe I should just tell it exactly like that.

I realise there is only one little problem. Jack is still dead. So far, my theory hasn't proven itself right yet.

I turn around, hoping to see that Jack is smiling at me, proving that I was right after all. But the only thing I see is Jack's lifeless face staring at the ceiling.

No. No, you're not going to tell me that... I mean, he can't be actually dead, right? There were so many facts to support my theory.

As I keep staring at the body on the floor, everything starts to become hazy and I realise tears are forming in my eyes. I don't even want to start thinking about the consequences of my impulsive behaviour. There is absolutely no way that I can talk my way out of this. No lawyer on earth can help me now.

"I knew you were trouble, Harkness," I whisper.

Then I turn back to face my brother and open my mouth to explain my unexplainable action. But before I can start this awful conversation, I am interrupted by something.

I hear a sudden gasp behind me. It's the sound of someone who is desperate for oxygen.

I look at my brother and start to grin like a maniac. "I knew it! I bloody well knew it!"

Gareth is not sharing my excitement. He is still staring at me, his nails now digging in my shoulder. His expression slowly changes from horror to anger. It looks like tension is building up in him, putting him in danger of exploding.

Instead of bursting out in shouting, he starts to whisper.

"You killed Jack."

"What do you mean? He is alive! Look at him." I turn around to Jack, who is leaning on his elbows. The bullet hole in his forehead has nearly disappeared. The only prove of the fact that I just put a hole in his head, is the pool of blood on the floor.

"But you didn't know for sure!" He is now shouting at the top of his lungs.

I can't believe it. Behind me lies a man who can't die and kept this a secret for me and my brother, and still Gareth blames me for shooting the man. I really want to keep calm, but Gareth is genuinely getting on my nerves now.

Within a few seconds, my brother and I are in a proper, childish brother-sister fight, shouting random things at each other and hitting each other.

"Please, can you stop fighting? Although I always love it when two people are fighting over me, I think this is not the time and place for it."

We stop fighting and my brother gets up, after which he helps me to my feet as well. We look at Jack and I realise that he is exhausted. Apparently, Gareth also noticed this, because he takes Jack's hand and leads him to the couch. I follow them and go and sit next to Jack. He is now in between my brother and me, and he puts his arms around us.

I want to comfort him, but, again, I don't know how, so I just rest my head on his shoulder. I notice that Gareth does the same thing and the three of us are sitting like this for a couple of minutes before Jack starts to talk.

"I guess I don't have to tell you guys anymore that I can't die. Or actually, I can't stay dead. It's like my cells reset themselves every time I die and I wake up exactly the same way I was before I died." He pauses. "Don't ask me how, because even I don't understand how it is possible, but let's just say that someone brought me back to life once and I can't seem to stay dead ever since."

There is a question burning in my mind, but I don't know whether I want to know the answer to it. Maybe it's something we shouldn't know the answer to.

However, after a few seconds, my curiosity wins. "What do you see when you die? Is there something more than this life?"

I feel that Jack stops breathing for a second.

"No, there is nothing."

Nothing. I never actually believed in a heaven where we meet everyone we once lost, or that we go to another place when we die, but it is still quite a shock to hear it. This is all there is.

I hear something moving on Jack's other side and realise Gareth is nestling closer to Jack. "How does it feel to come back to life? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"It's okay Gareth, you can ask me anything. I found out the hard way that it's better not to keep secrets around your sister."

He pulls me closer to him and I make a muffled sound.

"But to answer your question: It's like being hauled over broken glass. And it hurts every time again."

I flinch. I just put him through unnecessary pain by selfishly wanting to prove my little theory.

After another couple of moments of silence, it dawns upon me what it means not being able to die. The state Jack was in yesterday suddenly makes sense. It's exactly like he said: Everyone he loves dies, but he can't die with him.

I think about Ianto and want to ask so many things about him, but I also know this isn't the right moment. I slowly start to understand that Jack has to live with a terrible curse.

I close my eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jack."


	9. Chapter 9

I wake up in the most uncomfortable position. Jack has taken the liberty of using me as his pillow during his sleep and Gareth has ended up on the floor, taking the blanket with him.

I move slightly, giving my blood the possibility of flowing through my arm again, which has gone numb because Jack is lying on top of it.

He makes a sound as I move his head, but doesn't wake up.

I'm slowly taking in my environment, and simply listen to the comforting sound of the regular breathing of the two sleeping men.

I look at Jack, who seems to be quite peaceful at the moment. While studying this fascinating man's face, I can't spot any signs of nightmares. I wonder what he's dreaming about. What can an immortal man, who's seen so much, possibly dream about? Is he dreaming about all the incredible things he's seen? Is he dreaming about being re-united with his loved ones again? Or is he dreaming about finally being able to end it all?

That's quite a morbid thought to start the day with...

I lift my hand to run my fingers through Jack's thick, dark hair. There are so many memories stored in this head, so many secrets and losses.

Gareth's words echo through my head: 'We can't leave him like this. The least we can do is find out how we can help him.' He was right. We should stay. I'm not saying that it is within our ability to actually help him, but his man should not be alone now, even though he might not want to admit this himself.

I continue to massage Jack's head, as Gareth is the second one to wake up. "That bastard kicked me off the couch!" He gets up and looks at Jack, who is still asleep. "He let me sleep on the couch, because he has his own bed, and I still end up on the floor."

He walks away, but suddenly stops. He turns around and walks back, ending up standing behind the couch.

"You'd better let go of his hair, or the Captain is going to find out what he looks like with a bald patch on his head after all," Gareth says with a wicked smile.

The second my hand loses contact with Jack's hair, Gareth pushes him off the coach.

"That'll teach him. Now I'd better make some of that coffee he seems to love, before he comes after me. Good luck with dealing with him!" And Gareth is off to the other room.

After some mumbling sounds, Jack starts to talk clearly. "Really, your brother can praise himself lucky that he has such a cute face, or I definitely would have taught him a lesson." He is silent for a second. "Maybe I'm still going to do that. But first, let's see what the Rift has in store for us today."

Jack limps over to the computers, and, when he thinks I can't see him anymore, walks normal again. Seriously, that man will do anything for attention.

"Jack?"

"Hm?"

"I think I'm going back to the hostel to take a shower and change. I hope I can expect the world to still be in one piece when I get back. Unless that mysterious Rift has other plans?"

"What?" He sounds like he wasn't really listening. "No, we'll survive without you for an hour or so, don't worry." He gives me what he probably thinks is a comforting smile, but I can see it is slightly off.

"Right. See you in an hour then."

On my way back to the hostel, I notice something strange. Well, maybe it isn't strange and, after finding out about aliens, I keep seeing things that don't actually mean anything. But still, it can be said that it is slightly weird when two people in a row fall to their knees, get up again after a few seconds, look around like they haven't got a clue as to where they are, and continue walking again. I think I can safely say that that is rather strange. Right?

Anyway, I'll tell Jack about this and let him figure out whether it is alien, typically Welsh, or just me going mental.

When I get back at the Hub, just a bit over an hour later, Jack is still sitting behind one of the computers.

"Something wrong?"

"No. Like I said, nothing we won't survive. Just a bit of flotsam and jetsam. I'll take care of it later if it continues to be monitored by the alarm."

"Okay. So, where is Gareth? I bought us all some breakfast."

"He's taking a shower. Should be finished any minute now. I hope. Even though I've done it plenty of times before, I really don't feel like taking a cold shower. And since the spoilsport didn't let me join him, I have to wait for him to finish."

"Jack?" Talk of the devil... "I didn't have any clothes here, so I decided to have a look in your closet. I hope you don't mind."

We both turn to look at Gareth, who is dressed in a smart three-piece suit combined with a red shirt.

"Wow Gaz, I didn't know you could actually look good!" Even though this suit is a little bit too big for him, he does look quite good.

Next to me, Jack is staring at Gareth, mouth hanging slightly open.

"Jack? It's not polite to stare, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. It's just that... that was Ianto's favourite suit. And mine."

Gareth looks up in shock and embarrassment.

"Sorry! I didn't know. I can take it off if you want?"

"No, don't worry kid, you can wear it. Besides, your sister is right: you do look good in it. But be careful with what you say, because if I had been in a different mood, I would have taken that suit off personally after that question." With that statement, Jack changes back into his charming self. "Now let's eat this delicious looking breakfast and hope that the Rift stays quiet for today, because we've got some firearm training on today's schedule."

I decide not to tell Jack about what I saw today. Not yet anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

"So, who of you wants to be the first one to take their chances with me on the shooting range?" Jack lifts him arms in an inviting gesture, but neither Gareth nor I volunteer to go first. I can see in Gareth's eyes that he is still slightly uncomfortable around Jack, even though he is slowly getting used to the Captain's flamboyant personality.

"I'll go first. Besides, I've already shot you, so that's crossed off my list anyway."

"Why do people always have the tendency to either kill me or kiss me? Or both. I remember one species that loved to use their-"

"Jack! I don't want to hear those stories at this time of the day. I'm not even sure whether I ever want to hear them."

"You don't know what you're missing. Some alien species can be very creative with their... Anyway, let's just start with some basic fire-arm training first. Follow me!"

"Aye, Captain!"

When we get to the shooting range, I see that Jack has already laid out some guns, glasses and ear protection on a table. He puts on his own glasses and ear protection and gestures me to do the same. I feel quite stupid wearing these things, which are rather uncomfortable by the way, but, of course, I do see the point of having to wear them.

I look up at Jack, not really knowing what to do.

He smiles at me. "You ready?"

I nod, not really trusting my voice. Sure, I'm quite nervous about using a gun, but it doesn't really help that Jack is the one to teach me this. I mean, of course I already noticed that he is quite an attractive man, but being in one room with just the two of us, makes it difficult to focus on learning how to use a gun and actually hitting the targets. It slightly annoys me that he makes me feel like a sixteen year old girl again who has a crush on the boy sitting next to her, but I can't help it.

"Here's your gun. Just try to shoot the leftmost target."

I'm really trying to concentrate on hitting it, but I can feel Jack standing behind me, his eyes running all over me, which makes me self conscious of every move I make.

I try not to think about him and just lift my gun, clenching it in two hands.

I close my eyes and squeeze the trigger. When I hear and feel the gun go off, I open my eyes again to see whether I hit the target.

Wide. Very wide. Embarrassingly wide. Great.

I look at Jack, who is laughing at me. "I can see that there is some room for improvement. Thankfully, I'm just the right guy for that. Come here."

He walks over to stand next me and turns me to the left, so that the shooting range is now to my right.

His breath tickles the tingling skin of my neck as he says something, but I can't actually hear what he says. The only thing I can think about are those bloody fifty-first century pheromones and his body so close to mine. I really have to resist the urge to turn around, push him against the wall and do the things that are on my mind right now. I never really noticed how soft his hands are, how gentle his touch. His left hand is slowly moving from my shoulder, along my arm, down to my hip, where he rests his hand and draws me even closer to him. I can feel that he hasn't shaved yet, because his lightly stubbled chin is scratching my own skin as he continues to whisper something about looking along your shoulder and breathing.

Suddenly, he lifts my arm and points the gun at the target, holding both the gun and my hand with his own hand.

"Breathe in... Focus... Breathe out... Squeeze gently."

Jack's breath is sending shivers down my spine and I can feel that he is building up the pressure on the trigger. This brings me back to reality. I'm not letting him do all the work.

I'm taking over the control of the gun and Jack lets me pull the trigger.

"That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

He takes a step back and I immediately miss the warmth of his body against mine and almost want to follow his movement.

I look at the target, which I almost forgot about. Almost right through the middle.

"No, it wasn't, but I'm sure I can do much better than that. You put me out of my concentration by whispering in my ear because you were afraid that I might be better than you. You were distracting me on purpose."

"Oh, you liked it and you know it. Just admit it." He answers my smile with his own wide grin.

"You wish."

An hour later, we decide to stop. I have tried several guns and learned quite a lot of useful tricks. I have also gained a lot of respect for Jack. Even though he sometimes acts like a little kid and has the gift of making everything sound like an innuendo, he is a professional when it's necessary. It feels like he was born to be a leader, and, judging by the look on his face, he is glad to be one again, even if it's just for a short time.

"You think your brother is ready for some action now?"

"Yeah, but I think I should tell you he's not... you know, you can be quite enthusiastic and you tend to have little respect for people's personal space, and Gareth is a very private person. I just want to say that you'll freak him out if you're going to press up against him like you just did with me."

I don't really feel like explaining why Gareth is can be so closed off, because talking about the accident still is a very personal subject. Plus, just like Gareth, I usually don't openly talk about private subjects with people I basically just met. "Just be careful with him please."

I look up at Jack, hoping that I didn't sound too harsh. He is looking right back at me. His grin has entirely disappeared and has been replaced by the all too familiar sad expression.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "It's just that he reminds me so much of him. He doesn't even look or sound like him, but there is something in the way he laughs, the way he talks about some things. Hell, even the way he masters that coffee-machine reminds me of him. You know, when he showed up in that suit, it was like he was alive again. For one second, my Ianto was alive again. For one second, I hoped that the last three years had been nothing but the most awful nightmare you can imagine. I never even had the balls to say it to his face. I never said I..." He shakes his head. "I just miss him. Still miss him and always will."

I walk over to Jack and grab his hand. "You know what? Gareth and I will keep you company for a while. I can't stand to leave you on your own. Besides, this is far more exciting than sightseeing!"

He starts to smile again.

"Good, you haven't lost that charming smile of yours yet. I'll mentally prepare Gareth for you and your special fire-arm training, and send him down here."

"Thanks. By the way, if you want, you can have a look at the Rift monitor. Just familiarise yourself with it. Might come in handy sometime. There is also some information about Torchwood, if you want to know more about this." He vaguely waves around to emphasise 'this'.

"Aye Captain." I salute him and go back to Gareth.


	11. Chapter 11

After I sent Gareth down to the shooting range, I walk over to the computers. Jack told me to familiarise myself with all this Torchwood stuff. Since I've got nothing better to do here, and I certainly have no intention of becoming the new Torchwood housemaid, I sit myself in front of one of the computers.

I've never been a technological genius, and my only strategy of fixing a computer is turning it off and on again, but I've always liked to think that I can find my way through the maze of all the different programs and files, albeit with some random clicking and lucky guesses.

Right. Where to start? There are multiple icons scattered all over the desktop. I've always been someone who simply can't be bothered with reading the manual first, so I don't really feel like finding a how-to-deal-with-strange-computers-manual. I mean, if the product is made properly, it shouldn't be difficult to use it, right? However, the technology I use is not made for some kind of alien-hunting, secret organisation, so it might be smart start with the simple things and delve into the history of Torchwood first. Besides, judging from the laughter coming from the shooting range, I've got plenty of time to go through everything.

I double click the icon that says 'Introduction to Torchwood'. It surprises me that the icons have such simple names. And why on earth would there even be an icon named 'Introduction to Torchwood' on the desktop? It's not like Jack uses that program every day, I hope. Unless, of course, it's because he kidnaps people on a regular basis and gets rid of them when he's tired of them. No, surely he doesn't do that. Right?

A voice shakes me out of my thoughts.

"Hello. If you're watching this, I'm probably dead."

A video automatically started when I opened the program. A serious-looking man is staring straight into the camera. Looking at the background, I notice this video is probably recorded here in the Hub, but it was clearly before that bomb, because it looks nothing like the bare space it is now.

The voice continues.

"No, I'm only kidding. Most likely, I'm not there right now. And you are new, I assume, otherwise Jack wouldn't have showed you this video. I'm sorry if I'm rambling, it's just that I've got nothing to do right now. The rest of the team are out Weevil hunting, and I've just taken Jack's coat to the drycleaner's, so I decided to record this video. That way, I don't have to give this introduction every time Jack brings in a new member. I remember when I found out that Gwen hadn't been listening to anything I said. I wasted almost an hour of my time talking to deaf ears, while there was an SUV with bloodstains waiting for me to clean, just because Jack couldn't be bothered with waiting until his wound stopped bleeding before he got into the car. And don't get me started about the chaos down in the archives last month. Jack and Gwen were looking for something while I was getting us lunch. When I got back, I checked the CCTV, simply out of habit, only to find them in the middle of the biggest mess you can image. If only they had waited for me to come back. It took me almost a week to organise everything properly again."

The man looks at something I can't see and closes his eyes for a second. He takes a sip of his coffee, adjusts his tie and continues again.

"Especially since Tosh and Owen... Especially since it's now only the three of us here, I think this is a more practical way of giving you this information. So, let's get started. I've included a file with Torchwood's history, starting in 1879, up until now. Or last week actually. I asked Jack to update the file but, as always, he's behind on his paperwork, so I will probably end up doing it."

He is interrupted by a terrible sounding screech.

"Sorry, Myfanwy wants some attention."

He walks away, probably dealing with that thing with the weird name. I can hear the man saying some soothing words to the thing, but I can't understand what he says.

After about a minute, he returns.

"Sorry about that. You know, I really do hope I'm not dead. I don't know how everyone could cope without me. Imagine the reaction of the drycleaner when Jack keeps showing up with his coat once every three days, if not more often. He probably has no idea that I go to several drycleaners."

He chuckles to himself.

"I'm sorry, now I'm wasting your time. I'll hurry up. Apart from the file about the history, I have also written something about the way the archives are organised. It's not difficult, as long as you know how it works. Finally, I've uploaded Tosh's notes about the Rift. That's about it, I think. If you need anything else, just give me a shout and I will explain-"

The man suddenly turns around. There is someone moving in the background.

"Ianto! I've dropped Gwen off at her place. We've got the place to ourselves for the rest of the night. My office, right now! Time for Naked Hide and Seek. And bring your stopwatch!"

Jack appears on the screen, the buttons of shirt already undone. As soon as he reaches Ianto, he starts kissing his neck and his hands move down to the buttons of the Welshman's waistcoat. "By the way, who are you talking to? Is he cute? And in for a threesome?"

"It's nothing."

Without looking at the camera, and slightly blushing, Ianto stops the recording.

The video closes itself and the screen shows the several files the man was talking about.

I stare at the screen for a minute. So that was Ianto, the man Jack still mourns about.

I start the video again, this time not paying attention to what he says, but to the man himself. He looks quite young, probably somewhere in his late twenties. His eyes are as blue as Jack's, although there is a liveliness in them that has disappeared in Jack's eyes.

When Jack appears on the screen again, I can clearly see the difference between this Jack and the man I know. If you compare the two, the Jack I know is nothing but an empty shell at times.

The video stops for the second time and this time it gives me no time to think about the things I just saw. Instead of returning to the list of files, it sends me straight to the Rift monitor. The screen doesn't look the same as the other day when the alarm went off, but there are a couple of flashing lights and in the top right corner, it says 'code yellow'.

To my knowledge, 'code yellow' is not life-threatening, so I decide to check it out myself. From the safety of this chair, that is.

When I click on an icon that I assume will lead me to an explanation of this flashing of lights, I get send to CCTV footage. It takes a couple of seconds for me to realise what I'm looking at, but then it strikes me: it is exactly the same thing as I saw earlier.

I stare at the footage a little longer, hoping that it is just coincidence, or a trick of the light.

After a minute of looking for things to contradict what I just saw, I have to accept that this CCTV footage shows me what I saw this morning when I walked from the Hub to the hostel. People falling to their knees and getting up again, out of the blue. This time, though, it is on a different location.

The moment I realise I should really tell Jack about this now, he and Gareth return from the shooting range. Sometimes I just love coincidence.

"Jack, look at this footage. I saw it earlier this morning as well, when I walked back to the Hub."

Jack is leaning over my shoulder and shoves me and my chair out of the way. He looks at it with a frown plastered on his face. Has he seen this before?

"Do you know what it is?" I ask him.

He looks at me again, frown replaced by a smile, which is, just like before, not entirely convincing, however hard he tries.

"Yeah, but don't worry about it. Why don't you and your brother have a walk around the Bay? Get some fresh air and enjoy the view. Buy some souvenirs for your parents or send some postcards. It would be strange is you returned without any pictures or presents, wouldn't it? Just let me deal with this. Like it says at the top of the screen; it is a code yellow, nothing to worry about."

"You know, you do have your intelligent moments. Holiday stories rarely consist of chasing Weevils and getting fire-arm training from an immortal man."

I turn around, to see Gareth already in his jacket and holding mine as well. Without a further word, we walk towards the door, on our way to the windy Bay.

"By the way," Jack calls after us, "I've got a lot of paperwork to do, so why don't the two of you take a couple of days of. I'm sure you can use the rest, since it must have been quite an experience so far."

Oh, it certainly has, and something tells me it isn't over yet.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s Saturday today. At least, that’s what the newspaper in front of me says. If I turn to the last written page of my diary, the date at the top says it’s only Tuesday. Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered me, since I’ve never been someone who updates her diary regularly, but this time something is terribly wrong. This time, there are not only days missing from my diary, but they are missing from my entire recollection as well. My mind is as blank as the pages in front of me.

The only thing I can do to keep myself from curling up into a ball, is to try and find out what on earth happened to and during those missing days. Even though everything in my head is screaming and yelling at me to run away, I can’t allow myself to listen to it.

I’m not sure. Actually, I’m not sure of anything anymore. The last couple of days have been a blur of vague, abstract shapes and for some reason I can’t seem to remember much. Every time I think I remember something, the thought disappears. It’s as if something doesn’t want me to remember it. 

I look around, trying to find anything that might give me a clue as to what happened, but it seems like I’m the only one who has any problems with the lack of memories. Everyone here is simply having breakfast, talking excitedly about the things they are going to do today. Business as usual. At least, I think it’s business as usual, since I can’t remember anything after Monday evening, so as far as I know, I’ve never had breakfast here before or experienced what usual business is like here.

One thing I do know, is that whatever happened, it must have happened somewhere else, because the staff is nodding and smiling politely at me, so I suppose I must have found my way back here without any difficulty. There is not even the tiniest flicker of worry in their eyes, and I’m always the first one to notice things like that, so they have no idea what happened. Unless they are in on this and want me to believe they have no idea, but somehow I don’t think that’s true.

 

Right now, I’m writing everything down. Call me paranoid, but these holes in my memories don’t feel right and I don’t intend on losing any more of my memories. This entire thing is just messing with my head and I really don’t like it. Obviously.

I don’t even remember owning this diary, but somehow it found its way into my bag. I do know it’s mine though, because the first couple of pages are written in my handwriting, and, more importantly, I can actually remember the things that I wrote about. Everything up until the visit to Caerphilly Castle sounds familiar. After that, I can’t remember anything. Unfortunately, the things I wrote down are of no help either. It says something about having fish and chips, which is slowly coming back to me, and meeting someone I can’t remember, but the name is crossed out. However hard I keep trying, it is impossible to read. It feels like this meeting is a missing link, but it’s a link that is impossible to remember.

The pages after this meeting are empty. To be more precise, the pages after that meeting are cut out. I don’t know why though. The thought of someone actually cutting these pages out of my diary is quite disturbing and kind of scares me. But I can’t let it scare me, I can’t run away and forget about this, even though I’ve already forgotten about most of it. Because this is not the most worrying thing. 

At this very moment, I’m having breakfast and I have absolutely no idea where Gareth is. When I woke up this morning, somehow having found my way back to the hostel, I found a note on his bed. It said that I shouldn’t worry about him and that he just needed some time alone. He wrote that he would be back for dinner. Given what happened to him a couple of years ago, I understand that he needs some time alone. However, there is one problem with this note: It’s written in English. English is not his first language. So why on earth would he write me a note in English? There is absolutely no way that he would do that. The solution could of course be that he left a message at the reception to leave me a note and that someone else wrote it for him. But that doesn’t explain why his name is at the bottom, instead of ‘Reception-lady’ or something like that.

To make matters even worse, there is one thing that absolutely terrifies me: the person who wrote it, tried to copy Gareth’s handwriting. 

The person who wrote it, tried to copy Gareth’s handwriting, trying to trick me into thinking my brother wanted some time alone, so I wouldn’t go looking for him. Why does someone try to keep me from finding my brother? Who has my brother and what is he or she doing with him?

And how on earth am I going to find him if I can’t remember a bloody thing?


	13. Chapter 13

"Spent the entire day walking around the city centre and the Bay. Resulted in nothing, except for feeling even more lost. Life around me seems to continue as usual, but I can't seem to connect to anything or anyone. My head is overflowing with possible scenarios of what might have happened, but one is even more ridiculous than the other.

Still no sign of Gareth. It's like he's left Cardiff"

I really want to write everything down, but the truth is that I have no idea how to begin this search. The only thing I can think of is to aimlessly walk around, hoping to bump into Gareth, which, let's be fair, is not likely to happen. Also, I'm hoping that walking around in this city will trigger my memory, that by seeing something I've seen before, my memory will come flooding back, but so far, nothing has happened.

The other thing I did today was rummaging through both my and Gareth's stuff in an attempt to find the lost pages. I don't know what I expected, because someone has obviously cut them out of my diary in order to erase those days completely from my mind, so I'm clearly not going to find them hidden in my suitcase. The only thing I did find, was a book I apparently bought sometime between Tuesday and yesterday, because I can't remember buying it, but I clearly did, since it's still wrapped in plastic. The receipt is nowhere to be found, though. I suppose I might as well give it a try, because it's getting too dark outside to be walking around anyway. Time to face people again.

When I walk into the TV room, I find a group of French people sitting there, discussing which film they're going to watch. It's at times like these that I regret not paying attention during the French classes at secondary school, but it doesn't really matter. It's not like they know what happened to my brother. Unless of course he ran away with some French girl, in search of everlasting happiness underneath the Eiffel Tower. Or in Disneyland. But if that had been the case, surely he would have told me.

I find a spot next to the cat and start to tear the plastic off of my book. It's strangely soothing to listen to these voices talking in familiar sounds, yet unfamiliar words. It's just like Cardiff; the city feels familiar somehow, yet I can't remember most of it.

By the time I finally freed my book from its plastic wrapping, the French group still hasn't decided on which film to watch, so this is the perfect moment to look at this book in more detail, "The Thief of Time" by John Boyne.

It is 1758 and Matthieu Zela is fleeing Paris after witnessing the murder of his mother and his stepfather's execution. Matthieu's life is characterized by one extraordinary fact: before the eighteenth century ends, he discovers that his body has stopped ageing. At the end of the twentieth century and the ripe old age of 256 he is suddenly forced to answer an uncomfortable question: what is the worth of immortality without love?

That's weird. Really weird. Like too many things right now, this also seems equally familiar and unfamiliar. I can feel that the memory is stored somewhere in my head, but it's unreachable and it's like it's covered in bubble wrap. I can feel it trying to find its way out, but it can't.

Frustrated, I turn my attention to my lovely French fellow tourists, who have now, exactly at the right moment, decided on a film.

After a few seconds, a familiar tune comes out of the speakers. This time though, I do know exactly what film it belongs to. It's the very recognisable tune of Mission Impossible.

I look at the DVD cover, to find out which one of the so many Mission Impossible films it is. Ghost Protocol. I've already seen it before, but it keeps my mind from wandering to thoughts I don't really want to think of right now.

Halfway through the film I get bored and walk to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. With milk, which appears to be the habit here. Just like driving on the wrong side of the road, which still scares the hell out of me when I've starting crossing the road, expecting the cars to come from the other side and suddenly nearly get run over. Again.

Wait a second.

Mission Impossible. Tom Cruise.

I've fallen back in my familiar-yet-unfamiliar pattern. There was something with Tom Cruise.

No. Someone who looked like him?

I go back to the TV room and sit down next to the cat again, staring absentmindedly at the TV screen.

When I've finished my tea, I grab my book, go back to the kitchen to clean up and go upstairs. It's time to update my diary again, even though I have extremely little to update.

Just as I get comfortable and start writing about today's pattern, it hits me: the bloke who appeared in my dream the day before I went to Cardiff looked like Tom Cruise. The one who stood in my room, looking sad.

I'm not sure how this will help me, but it feels like another link that only needs to be connected to the next one in order to make sense of this mess in my head. The problem is; I don't know what the next link is. But it is encouraging that there are some things slowly returning to me.

The less encouraging thing, I realise when I look up to see an empty bed, is that Gareth hasn't come back today. He hasn't even texted me. This definitely mean that the note was fake.


End file.
